


don't you mind?

by sodun



Series: rarl oneshots [5]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:42:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10059710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodun/pseuds/sodun
Summary: Title and lyrics from 'Me' by The 1975.





	

_I put your mother through hell, don't you mind?  
I hurt your brother as well, don't you mind, don't you mind?  
Oh, I was thinking about killing myself, don't you mind?  
I love you, don't you mind, don't you mind?_

Two boys sit in the grass.

Blades of spring green brushing against the denim of their jeans. The setting sun casts a warm glow over their cold skin. Neither boy pays any mind to the chill that floats in the May air, though. 

One of the boys stares into his lap, pale hands clasped together tight, his knuckles going white. The other boy rests his cheek on his knee, dark blond hair creating a curtain around his tear-stained face. One of his long arms wraps around his shin, and the other rests along his other leg, fingers drumming against his knee.

“You didn’t come out here to just sit in silence, right?”

The voice startles the younger boy. He flinches, but doesn’t look up. He can’t look into the blond’s eyes, he knows this. “No, I just didn’t know if you wanted to talk. I was waiting for you to say something.”

The blond glances over at the boy, who keeps his head down, messy brown hair hanging over his slouched shoulders. “I know what you’re gonna say. You’re gonna say what everyone is saying. I don’t want to hear it anymore, especially not from _you_.”

Finally, the brunet raises his head, looking at his companion. Despite being 2 years his senior, he looks far younger. “He was an asshole. An abusive, alcoholic murderer. I’m not sorry he’s dead.” As these words fall from his lips, he watches the other boy’s face for a change in emotion. It never comes.

“I know you aren’t,” the blond whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “Is that all?”

“No,” with a quiet sigh, the younger boy turns to face his friend. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, but I am sorry you lost him. And.. I’m sorry I had to be the one to kill him.”

The blond lifts his head from it’s resting place on his knee and mimics the brunet’s pose, sitting so close that their knees touch. “I don’t forgive you.”

“I know you don’t. I’m sure I’m the last person you want to talk to, but I killed my mom. I-I had to. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. If you want to talk.. Just know I understand. And I’ll listen.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, neither of them do. The older boy stares at the younger one, who looks at the ground. When the boy lifts his eyes, the blond makes his move.

“That’s nice,” he murmurs, slowly bringing his face closer to his friend’s. His eyes fall closed, and he knows that the younger boy’s did too. They always do.

Their lips brush, skin making faint contact for just a moment before the blond pushes forward, kissing him thoroughly. It doesn’t last long. It never does.

The brunet pulls away first, as per usual, standing up abruptly. “I told my dad I wouldn’t be long.”

“Of course you did, Carl,” the remaining boy murmurs, watching his friend’s form slowly disappear, “of course you did.”

\----

The boys meet again the next day, the same time and place. 

Carl is the second one to arrive. Always is. Sometimes, he doesn’t show up at all, unable to escape his family.

Ron, on the other hand, is always there. He’ll sit in solitude for hours, even after he knows his friend isn’t coming. Being alone doesn’t bother him. Besides, Carl Grimes is bad company. He killed Ron’s dad. 

Ron sees Carl approaching, a shy smile on his face, and forgets all about his dad. 

“Sorry,” the boy murmurs, taking his seat next to Ron.

The older boy replies with a short nod, looking at the grass in front of him. The blades flutter gently in the breeze, waving up at him. “Are you afraid of me?”

The question startles Carl, but he knows where it’s coming from. He knows why Ron thinks this. “No,” the younger boy states, looking over at his friend. He doesn’t look up.

“You always leave.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Carl sighs, hesitantly placing his hand on the blond’s knee, “but you know this isn’t right.”

“What isn’t right?”

The younger boy raises an eyebrow. “Your people hate mine. I’m not allowed to see you after you tried to kill me. And I killed your dad. No one has seen your mom or Sam since, and I’m sure that’s why. None of this is right.”

For a moment, neither boy says anything. Ron tries to think of something to say, to tell him why he’s wrong, but he can’t. The Alexandrians and Rick’s group don’t get along. Ron _did_ try to kill Carl, more than once. Sam and Jessie were destroyed when they found out about Pete, and they still haven’t recovered. 

“Why do you kiss me back at all then?” He ends up whispering, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I didn’t say I don’t want this,” Carl murmurs, looking down. “I know I shouldn’t.. and I don’t want to get attached. Chances are, one of us will die, from a walker or a person, and I’ve lost enough people to know that it’s better not to love anyone. It’s better not to care.”

“Right,” the blond responds, doing his best to sound indifferent despite how disappointed he feels. He thought him and Carl could find away to make things work, despite all the roadblocks they faced. He _wanted_ them to. Though he knows Carl is right, that they shouldn’t get attached, it is too late for Ron.

“Besides.. We hurt each other. It would never work. It couldn’t.”

Ron doesn’t respond. He knows they hurt each other, that things probably wouldn’t work, but he can’t force himself to agree. 

They don’t speak again. They sit together in silence for a little while before Carl leaves without a goodbye. Ron watches him leave with a weight in his heart and sadness in his eyes.

\-----

Carl is tearing himself apart.

He tells himself it was what he had to do. Pete had that gun pointed right at Rick’s head, index finger ready to squeeze the trigger and end Rick’s life. Carl knows he saved his father.

But in doing so, he killed someone else’s father, someone’s husband.

The boy tries to convince himself that there was no other way, that his only choice was to shoot. He just can’t make himself believe it, though. Pete was drunk; it wouldn’t have been hard to get the gun out of his hand, tackle him to the ground. Then someone else could have taken care of him. 

Carl believes everything he told Ron. Pete wasn’t a good father or husband. Carl knows they’re going to be better off without him in the end. Knowing how badly he’s hurt Jessie and Sam and Ron, though, is absolutely _killing_ him. The longer it takes for them to recover, the more Carl beats himself up.

Every time he sees Ron, the weight of what he’s done, what he stole from Ron, crushes him. Despite the fact that everything he told the boy was true, that what they were doing wasn’t right, that isn’t why Carl leaves. Carl leaves because he doesn’t want Ron to have feelings for the person who killed his father. He leaves because he knows he’s hurt Ron, knows that it’s not healthy for Ron to love him.

When Carl leaves Ron alone in the grass, he feels even more guilty than he did before. Though he tried to hide it, Carl saw that the boy was hurt by what he’d been told. Yet again, Carl hurt Ron.

Despite what Carl said, he is already attached. He just can’t stay with Ron after kissing him when he knows what he’s done.

\-----

When Carl arrives home, he tries to go to his bedroom without anyone seeing him. He doesn’t want to talk. He has nothing to say.

Rick sees him rushing up the stairs and calls after him. The brunet stops, not turning around.

“What?” His voice does not come out as monotonous as planned, and he mentally kicks himself.

“Where are you going?”

The boy sighs quietly. “To bed.” He turns to face his father, who looks back with furrowed eyebrows.

“It’s only seven,” Rick questions, his voice rough and assertive, like usual.

Carl shrugs gently, turning and continuing up the stairs. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll see you in the morning.” Of course, this isn’t a lie. He stays awake at night, thinking about Ron and his family.

The boy shuts his door without waiting for a response. He expects a knock at his door, from his dad or Michonne, part of him hopes for it, for someone to come and tell him he isn’t a monster, but it never comes.

\----

Carl arrives first this time.

He sneaks out of the house at seven AM, right after his father leaves. He sits in the empty field and notes that the grass is starting to dry out from the heat the day brings. It’s almost summer, after all. The boy brings his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on top of them. His arms wrap around his legs and he closes his tired eyes. 

Hours must have passed before he heard his friend’s voice from behind him.

“You beat me this time,” Ron jokes humorlessly, sitting next to the younger boy.

Carl’s eyes open and he turns to face the blond. He adjusts his position so he’s sitting cross-legged. “I think this is the last time.”

Ron blinks, staring into Carl’s eyes. “What?”

“I’m not meeting you here anymore. I’m not meeting you _anywhere_.”

Ron thinks about how long he’s anticipated this. How many months they’ve been doing this, and how hesitant Carl has always been, like he’s wanted to stop since the moment they started. He thinks about the amount of times he’s braced himself for these words, only for them to never come.

He thinks about how he never imagined words could hurt him so badly.

Swallowing hard, the boy drops his gaze. “Why?”

“You know why,” Carl sighs, shaking his head, “I told you why yesterday.”

Ron stands abruptly, staring down at his friend. “No, that was all bullshit. Tell me why.”

Carl can’t tell if it’s anger or hurt in the blond’s eyes. He stands up as well, but keeps his gaze fixed on the ground. “I hurt you. I hurt you and your family. Doesn’t that matter to you? I feel so _guilty_ for killing your dad and seeing you makes me feel so much worse.”

The older boy doesn’t respond. He wants to tell Carl that no, it _doesn’t_ matter. He wants to tell Carl that he forgives him, that he understands why he did it, but he can’t say _anything_. He knows he shouldn’t forgive the boy. Ron’s father is dead because of him, that shouldn’t be forgivable. 

Somehow, though, he forgives his friend. But he can’t force himself to say it before the brunet surges forward, kissing him hard. 

Ron doesn’t have time to react before Carl pulls back, whispering a pained “I’m sorry” before walking away for the last time.

Ron doesn’t move for another ten minutes.

\----

Alexandria becomes a ghost town at night, Carl notices.

No lights are on, no one is outside, nothing is making noise. If Carl didn’t know any better, he’d think no one inhabited the fenced-in neighbourhood. 

The brunet walks in solitude through the streets, walking slowly to silence his footsteps. Sneaking out of his bedroom window wasn’t easy, and he didn’t want to get caught now. His first stop isn’t far. He knows he’ll make it.

For the second time in the last 24 hours, Carl is the only one in the small field. The bed of green grass is hidden by trees, and he knows this is the reason he and Ron chose it. No one would find them there, no one would find out what they’d been doing.

Carl crosses the field to the spot they always sit in. The most secluded portion of the field. He sits down, just for a minute. Despite the darkness, he does his best to look around. To take in his surroundings one last time. 

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. With a heavy sigh, he places the paper down next to him in the grass. Carl isn’t worried about the wrong person find it. Only one other person goes behind the trees, and even if someone else found it, it wouldn’t matter.

The boy pushes himself to his feet once again. He takes one final look around the space before sneaking off to his next destination.

\----

When Ron wakes up the next morning, he feels just as exhausted as when he fell asleep. He forces himself to get out of bed, though. Lying around all day won’t do him any good.

His mom and brother are nowhere to be found when he gets downstairs, so he assumes they’re still asleep. There’s no reason to wake them up, he knows, despite the clock reading 12:13PM. It’s unlikely that they’ll get up at all today.

When Ron leaves the house, he knows where he’s going. As he begins his trek, though, something catches his eye.

One of Carl’s people, Abraham, is digging another grave.

Rosita, the woman Ron assumes is Abraham’s girlfriend, sits on the ground next to him. She stares at the growing hole solemnly, and she doesn’t look up until she notices Ron approaching.

“What’s going on?” The boy asks. Abraham looks up at him, pausing his movements for a moment before going back to digging.

Rosita glances back at the grave, then back at Ron. “Rick found his son in his bed this morning.. We think he overdosed. He’s dead.”

Tears fill the boy’s eyes as he looks down at the ground, one of his hands rising to cover his mouth. “You mean he killed himself?”

The woman nods, looking back at the grave. She looks like she’s going speak again, but Ron doesn’t give her a chance before he takes off.

He runs through the streets of Alexandria, which are uncharacteristically barren for this time of day. The boy runs until he reaches the few trees that stand in the middle of the community, where he finally stops to take a breath and think.

Carl Grimes is dead. 

Ron leans against a tree, unable to walk past it. A tear falls down his cheek slowly as he thinks about their interaction the previous day. He thinks about how Carl must have known then, when he told Ron it would be the last time, when he kissed him, when he told him he was sorry. Carl knew, he had to know, that would be their last interaction. 

Carl had his closure, he had his last goodbye, but Ron didn’t.

As he enters the field, he thinks about how maybe, if he’d told Carl he forgave him, he’d still be here. Still be alive, still be breathing. 

When Ron sits in the grass, he sees a folded paper, appearing to hover over the dead blades of grass. There’s no writing on the exposed side, but Ron knows who it’s from, who it’s for. 

With trembling hands, Ron picks it up. It takes a moment of mental preparation for him to force himself to unfold it. 

Nothing could prepare him for the three words scribbled in large, messy scrawl in the center of the paper.

‘I love you.’

Ron feels as though his body isn’t his; like he’s watching this unfold on a TV screen. He hears himself choke out a sob, but doesn’t feel it, doesn’t feel anything other than the pain in his chest. The note falls from his fingers, landing on the grass in front of him. but he doesn’t pick it up. He drops his forehead into his palms, shaking his head. 

“I love you, Carl,” the blond breathes, tears falling freely down his face, “I forgive you.”

No one is around to hear the words, though. As much as Ron wishes Carl could hear them, he knows he never will.

Ron sits in the field until the sun goes down. He waits there, despite the dry grass stabbing his skin and the heat from the sun, waiting for a boy who is never going to show up.


End file.
